 | The poems of Dr. Yalden |  |
FABLE VI. THE FOX AND BRAMBLE.
Ren, an old poacher after game,
Saw grapes look tempting fine:
But, now grown impotent and lame,
Could not command the vine;
His lips he lick'd, stood ogling with his eyes,
Strain'd at a running jump, but miss'd the prize:
Saw grapes look tempting fine:
But, now grown impotent and lame,
Could not command the vine;
His lips he lick'd, stood ogling with his eyes,
Strain'd at a running jump, but miss'd the prize:
Quoth he, “that honest Bush hard-by
Might give a friend a lift:
In troth' its curtesy I'll try,
And venture for a shift.”
Without more words he bounces to the top,
But gor'd and wounded is compell'd to drop.
Might give a friend a lift:
In troth' its curtesy I'll try,
And venture for a shift.”
Without more words he bounces to the top,
But gor'd and wounded is compell'd to drop.
Down Reynard came, batter'd and tore,
He blow'd and lick'd his paws:
Then mutter'd to himself and swore,
Cursing the fatal cause;
“Damn'd rascal shrub,” quoth he, “whom hedge-stakes scorn,
Beneath a furs-bush, or the scoundrel thorn!
He blow'd and lick'd his paws:
Then mutter'd to himself and swore,
Cursing the fatal cause;
“Damn'd rascal shrub,” quoth he, “whom hedge-stakes scorn,
Beneath a furs-bush, or the scoundrel thorn!
“Good words, friend Ren,” the Bush reply'd,
“Here no incroacher 'scapes:
Those Foxes that on brambles ride
Love thorns, as well as grapes;
But better language would your mouth become:
If you must curse, go curse the fool at home.”
“Here no incroacher 'scapes:
Those Foxes that on brambles ride
Love thorns, as well as grapes;
But better language would your mouth become:
If you must curse, go curse the fool at home.”
THE MORAL.
Who first offend, then in disputes engage,
Should check their passions and indecent rage:
But peevish age, of weak resentments proud,
Like woman's stubborn, impotent, and loud.
Should check their passions and indecent rage:
But peevish age, of weak resentments proud,
Like woman's stubborn, impotent, and loud.
90
Ill-manners never found a just pretence,
And rude expressions shew a barren sense:
But, when high birth descends to mean abuse,
The crime runs foulest, and finds no excuse.
And rude expressions shew a barren sense:
But, when high birth descends to mean abuse,
The crime runs foulest, and finds no excuse.
| The poems of Dr. Yalden | |